A Little Help
by Crysania
Summary: Smut DC castle prompt : The table is now traumatised.


The rose was not the first transformation that Rumplestiltskin had done to someone who irritated him. Usually it was snails or ants, once a cockroach, and he remembers a pig sometime back in his long history. But he reserves the inanimate objects for those who irritate him most. Gaston would live out his life as a rose that never wilted, not until he drew his last breath. And Rumplestiltskin took a little bit of joy in knowing that he would bear witness to all that went on in his castle while not being able to actually do anything about it.

His enchanted objects were not _inanimate_, not exactly. They could think, they could feel. But they could not move or speak or change back to their original shape.

He can't quite remember how far back it was that he turned one particularly irritating buffoon into his dining room table. It must have been well over forty years now. The man had come to him for a deal but when Rumplestiltskin tried to claim his payment, he had attempted to escape, shirking all of his duties to try to hide. And he hadn't even hidden all that well. The man was a blithering idiot, not realizing that the most powerful sorcerer in all the lands could find him with just a snap of his fingers.

And so for forty years, the man had graced his living area. Bent over and transformed into a rather impressively large table, if he did say so himself.

These last months, the man was subjected to further indignities as the lovely maid he had taken on decided that his dining room table was the best place to sit when talking to him. He had offered her a chair…refused. He had suggested she sit by the fire and read…refused. He had one day, rather nastily really, suggested she simply sit on the ground and leave his poor table alone…refused…and laughed at. Or laughed _with_. He's never been quite clear on the difference.

It was just another day in the castle and as soon as Belle entered the room, he felt the atmosphere lighten just a little bit. It always did when she showed up. Ever since she had returned from her journey to fetch straw, ever since she had returned of her own accord, no longer a prisoner, but his chosen companion, the atmosphere of the Dark Castle hadn't been…well…quite so dark.

She spoke his name with a smile and hopped up on the table.

He shook his head. "Would you care for some breakfast, my dear?" She had long since ceased being dearie. There was no sarcasm in the way he treated her, not anymore. Sometime she had stopped being his maid and just started to be Belle. He never quite understood how or when or _why_ that happened. But he found himself rather strangely not bothered by it. Belle was a lovely addition to his castle, even if she was clumsy and he found he had to rescue her more often than not.

"I…" He cocked his head to the side. She was slightly flushed, cheeks more pink than usual, a blush spread out across her neck. There was a slight sheen to the skin across her upper chest and he tried to not imagine how the salt of the sweat would taste against that all that creamy skin.

He stepped closer to her. "Are you ill?"

"What? No." She picked up the book she had set down at her side and used it to fan herself a bit.

"It's too hot in here?"

She gave a short bark of laughter. "Not exactly, no."

"Then?" And she did something rather curious in that moment. She handed him the book and turned her face away from him. Eyebrows raised, he glances down at the book. "Oh."

"Yes."

It's an old book, ancient really. He doesn't remember when exactly it came into his possession as it had quickly been deposited in the library, _Belle's_ library now, and forgotten. It wasn't like he'd ever have _need_ of such a thing. He was the reclusive monster in the Dark Castle. What need would he ever have for a book on sexual pleasure?

They were both silent for a moment until he finally glanced back up at her. "And so you're…"

She bit her lip, that look that so often simply _undid_ him. "Yes."

"And…um…" He didn't mean to step closer in that moment, but he couldn't help himself. They were treading in dangerous territory here, more dangerous than his saving her from a ladder and holding her close for a moment, more dangerous than the time she had nearly upended one of his potions and he had pushed her out of the way so quickly that they'd both stumbled and fallen onto the nearby couch in a tangle of arms and legs. "So…is there some way…um…I could help you?" The words were torn from him, one difficult syllable at a time, and he looked away. He couldn't meet her eyes in that moment so instead studied the pattern of threads on the skirt of her blue dress. That seemed…_safer_…somehow.

He should have known that question would get him in trouble.

"Would you?" Belle's voice was breathy and he chanced another look at her. There was a _look_ in her eyes, one he hadn't quite expected to see there.

"Yes…well…I…" He tried to forget in that moment that the table beneath her would be aware of everything they did. It didn't matter, really. Someday it would crumble to dust as the person died and there would be no memories of pretty little maids sitting atop it. He took another breath. "Spread your legs a little, love." If she noticed the change from dearie to dear to love, she didn't say and he was thankful for that much at least. He wasn't even quite sure where the new nickname had come from and he didn't want to examine that too closely for fear he'd realize something he wasn't quite ready to just yet.

Belle did as he asked, leaning back on her hands and spreading her legs apart. He took a deep breath, stepped closer. She was forced to separate her legs even more, leaving her wide open.

He traced a hand up her leg, from calf to the inside of her knee, and then looked up to meet her eyes for just a moment. "You'll…tell me if I do anything wrong?"

She nodded and he looked down again, small smile gracing his lips. He continued his light explorations up the soft skin of her inner thigh, tracing patterns there, taking his time as he got closer to where he really wanted to be, where _she_ seemed to want him to go.

He had no illusions about this, really. She needed something. Women had needs just as men did. And sometimes your own hand just wasn't enough. He was the only other person in the castle, the only other person she would see for the remainder of her days, unless he counted the handful of random people who came through looking for deals. And so he was the only one there to scratch that itch that she had developed.

So he did as she asked, lightly touching the inside of her thigh, running a nail across the tender flesh, waiting for her to tell him, not in words but in actions, that she was ready for him to take it a step further.

Which she did, spreading her legs just a little bit further and giving him _that look_. Not that it was one he knew well. He was long since out of any practice in the art of seduction and what little chance he _had_ for such a thing had been pitiful at best. But Belle was, while not brazen, at least _obvious_.

He brought his finger up and touched her slightly, gasping a little bit at the feel of the slick moisture at her center. Dipping his finger inside her, ever careful of his long claw-like nails, he caressed her. The small whimper she let out, the movement of her hips as she tried to get him to touch her in just the right spot, caused a moan to slip out of his own throat.

Stopping, he glanced up at her. He withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he murmured. This was supposed to be about her. He wanted her to shut her eyes, forget whose hand it was on her, forget that she was so desperate she allowed the monster such liberties with her body.

Belle reached out and gripped his wrist lightly in her hand. "Don't stop." She gave a small, shuddering breath. "Please." And the last word was so determined, so almost desperate that he could do nothing more than bend to her will.

He gave her a small nod and returned to his ministrations, stroking her lightly with one finger until her hips were moving of their own accord.

"Please," she murmured again and he knew, somehow he knew, exactly what she wanted. He moved his finger a little faster, a little firmer, encircling her clit and then bringing the pad of his calloused finger across it. It took nothing more than that. She leaned back, her legs separating just that little bit further, her upper body supported by her elbows. He could feel her shake, could hear the small moans that she let out, as if they were trapped inside her body and she didn't dare scream.

And most amazing of all, as her eyes closed, as she finally let herself go, he heard his _own name_ come from her lips.

As she came down, as her eyes opened back up, he removed his hand from her, hands twitching together in a semblance of spinning, as they so often did when he wasn't sure what else to do with them. She watched him for a moment, eyes bright, lips slightly parted. Finally she spoke, her words soft in the silence that preceded them. "Thank you."

He felt the breath he was holding leave him. He wasn't sure how she'd react, now that the deed was done, now that he had seen her come apart for him in such a way. It wasn't something he ever thought he'd see and he found he wanted to thank _her_ for such an opportunity.

"It's…" _It's no matter_. But it _was_. It _did_ matter. "That is…you're welcome," he finally said with a slight bow. "I shall leave you…to your reading that is. Just for now. Not for…nevermind…" And he turned away from her, intent on departing, finding his way back his tower room, torn between spinning in an attempt to calm his mind and taking care of his own needs.

Which she would see, if only she looked, if only he'd turn back to her and make her realize that what he had done for her had created such a need in _him_. But he couldn't ask it of her, didn't want such a thought to cross her pretty little mind. She might let him touch her, but allowing her to touch _him_, allowing her to see the monstrosity behind the finely tailored clothing. That was simply _too much_ to ask of her.

Belle's hand came down to grip his wrist, keeping him close by. "Rumplestiltskin." His name was spoken quietly, but also firmly. He kept his body turned away, hiding most of himself, but turned his head to look back at her. He could just barely see her out of the corner of his eye, his unruly hair blocking most of his view, though he could see that she was more flushed than before. Pink was a very becoming color on her. "Maybe next time…I could help you?"

They were the last words he expected. "Perhaps." She let his wrist go then and he stepped away, trying to keep the small smile from forming on his face until he had turned completely away from her.


End file.
